Page 37 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

That is all he said before he left the room and her, staring into the empty void created by a man capable of making or ruining days with a simple smile.

CHAPTER 12

RED YARN

Afew days later, the morning ritual had changed for Marigold. She still went down to the breakfast room at exactly the usual time and had her mostly silent meal with the Duke. But after that, she changed into a sturdy dress, a leather apron, and thick gloves then made her way to her little patch of heaven.

With Duck at her heels, she greeted the gardeners, a father and his son. The older man was happy to assist her in what he considered meaningful work, especially when Marigold announced that the produce would be shared with the household and distributed to those in need.

“Good morning, Mr. Heston.”

“Your Grace,” the old gardener said, still apprehensive about a Duchess working with her hands. “You can always supervise our work.”

“The labor does not scare me,” Marigold smiled. “Together we can cover more land. For now, make sure the shed is renovated and fully equipped.”

The soil was good. She planned rows for potatoes, a section for carrots and onions, the shadier part for cabbage and spinach, and peas along the edge where they could climb.

She worked until the sun passed its peak, overseeing the shed’s renovation before returning to her room. A bath was already drawn, and she relaxed in the steamy water.

“Tell Mrs. Hodgins I will be in my study,” she told her maid, Beth.

Soon after, Mrs. Hodgins joined her at the ledgers. The accounts were taking shape. Marigold had renegotiated with two suppliers and switched to a different pork supplier, favoring a kind family man over a rich trader.

“I apologize for my tardiness, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hodgins said.

Marigold smiled, and they began working. They were almost done when a knock came at the door.

“Come in,” she said without looking up.

“Your Grace.” It was one of the Duke’s footmen. “His Grace requests your presence in the study at your earliest convenience.”

Her pen screeched over the ledger. She had never been invited to his study before; it was a mythical place the Duke disappeared into. She barely saw him outside of breakfast and dinner. He was either locked in his study or out, busy, always somewhere she was not.

“Tell His Grace I will be there shortly.”

Marigold went to her dressing room and looked in the mirror. She would not fool herself about why she was summoned. It was not for the joy of her company, so there was no reason to change into a new gown. The Duke wanted the information. That was why he married her. He had kept his end of the bargain, and now, it was time to prove she was worth what he had paid for. Still, she made sure she looked composed.

Marigold made her way down to the Duke’s study. It was strategically placed on the part of the ground floor that she never needed to pass unless she intended to visit him there. Once she was outside, she smoothed her skirt and straightened her back before knocking on the door.

“Enter!” His command came from behind the closed door.

Marigold opened the door and stepped inside. It was not as if she had dwelled on how his study would look, but this was not anything she expected. The Duke she knew was strict and austere, so she expected it to be cold and controlled as the man himself. She always imagined how he would react to seeing her own study and the little mess that she allowed no one to touch.

But now, she felt quite proud of the way she maintained her study, especially compared to what she was looking at. This was a complete mess. Papers covered every surface, scattered without any order. And she could clearly see the reason why Duck was not allowed in the study. Books upon books and ledgers were stacked on the floor. One such stack had a coffee cup on top of it.

But what drew her attention was the wall across from the door. It was covered entirely with papers, sketches, and newspaper clippings. And that would have been the least of it. And yet it wasn’t. Fastened with pins, there was a chaotic web of yarn of all colors—red, black, yellow, and green—running from one paper to the other, twisting, crossing, and tangling.

And in front of that wall, standing with his back to her, was the Duke himself. He was in his shirt, and she could see the cravat at the back of his chair along with his coat. The suspenders of his breeches were hanging loosely. And the worst part was that he had rolled his sleeves past his elbows, revealing muscular, veiny forearms that momentarily made Marigold lose focus from the chaos she was experiencing.

“Close the door,” he demanded.

For a second there, Marigold had the mind to step back out and close the door, but she was dutiful and did as told.

“It goes without saying,” the Duke’s dark voice was heard as he turned, “that you should not speak to anyone about what you see in here.”

Marigold nodded. Somehow, it made her feel special to be admitted into his inner sanctum.

“Come closer, and let’s exchange information.”